Many Happy Returns: 21
by Aggie2011
Summary: It's Clint's 21st birthday. But when Clint firmly rebels against their plans for celebration, Phil has to figure out why...and realizes he should have already known. *Vantage Point Universe*Pre-Avengers*NO-Slash*


_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works._

_Author's Note: While I embrace _**_constructive _**_criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"_

* * *

_And here we are again, back in the Vantage Point Universe. I know you are all patiently - and not-so-patiently - waiting for The Untold Stories. It's in progress! I've set a goal for myself to have it done by, hopefully I can stick to that! :D _

_This little fic-let is coming to you on a very special day. It is April 25th (in this time-zone at least) and April 25th in the Vantage Point Universe is none other than Clint Barton's birthday. So how fitting that we now get to see how he spent his 21st birthday! Enjoy this! _

_As usual, special thanks to my beta's _**Kylen **_and _**JRBarton. **_They're both so awesome and I don't know what I'd do without them! And _**Kylen**_is responsible for much of Dan's words here. I did some of his stuff without her, but for the most part, Dan is all her, as usual :)_

_And you will meet someone new in this fic, a character that was proposed by _**JRBarton**_. I'll explain more at the end of the fic after you've met this new character :)_

_Now, ONWARD!_

* * *

_God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.  
__**Voltaire**_

* * *

_Sunday, April 25, 2006, 8:53 a.m._

* * *

"Easy, Barton…" physical therapist Rachel Braxton coached patiently. "Good, stretch it slow and gentle, you know the drill by now. Agent Coulson," she looked to Phil, "why don't you take over? That way I can make my notes on his chart and we can all get out of here."

Phil nodded and shift easily from his position offering support in front of Clint – which usually entailed gripping his right hand and allowing Clint to squeeze as hard as he needed to as an outlet for the pain he steadfastly refused to show. He moved now to stand at his shoulder instead, carefully helping him stretch the fragile, healing muscles in his shoulder.

He watched Clint brush the back of his other hand across his forehead, wiping at the sweat that had beaded there.

"You pushed it today," Phil pointed out quietly.

His agent shot him a sideways glare.

"Just an observation," Phil defended calmly.

Clint grunted a response, but didn't deny the truth of Phil's words.

"You're gonna regret that later." Especially since he refused to take any real pain medication, choosing instead to rely on ice packs and ibuprofen.

Clint didn't even bother grunting this time. He just stayed silent and let Phil ease his arm out of the stretch. He then moved the limb with his own power to rest against his chest. For a long moment, Phil just watched him.

Clint, seemingly ignoring the scrutiny, just sat there and breathed.

Phil could almost see whatever pain he was feeling being methodically pushed aside.

It had been 5 weeks since Clint had undergone surgery to remove the bullet that had been meant for Phil. Ten days since he'd started the physical therapy to start rebuilding his damaged shoulder. So far, watching Clint suffer in silence had not gotten any easier.

Phil was so goddamned tired of seeing him in pain.

And it was even worse to see it today. It was Clint's _birthday_ after all. He'd tried to talk him out coming to his therapy session altogether during breakfast this morning. Phil had been sure Rachel would understand when told the reason, but Clint had resolutely and firmly refused. He hadn't stepped a toe out of line in terms of his recovery, and apparently didn't intend to. Phil wasn't going to argue – Clint cooperating with medical advice was a gift horse he didn't intend to look in the mouth – even if it did mean they spent the first couple hours of Clint's birthday in the therapy gym.

"Ready for this?" Rachel stepped up next to Phil with Clint's immobilizing sling in her hands.

Clint heaved a large sigh, but didn't offer any sort of verbal protest.

"How much longer does he need that?" Phil asked for both of them. Clint, though obviously annoyed with being limited to his non-dominant hand, hadn't protested the use of the sling once.

"I think we can get it off for good in the next few days as long as things stay steady." Rachel spoke even as she efficiently, but carefully, started to help Clint get his arm strapped back to his chest. Phil nodded and moved to gather their things.

He headed over to the short row of chairs along the wall, offering Dan a wave of greeting as the doctor looked up from the stack of charts on his lap.

"We done here?" Dan asked, looking at Phil then to Rachel and Clint. Seeing Clint getting fitted back into his sling seemed to be answer enough because he started packing up his stuff before Phil could reply.

Phil grabbed the two half-drunk Gatorades off one of the chairs and tucked them under his arm. Then he scooped up his gym bag and pulled out a towel, tossing it at Clint as he and Rachel joined them.

"We still on for tonight?" Dan asked as he checked his watch and shifted towards the door.

"Yes." Phil nodded.

"No." Clint's refusal came in the same moment as Phil's affirmation, but carried noticeably more heat.

Phil slid a sideways glare at Clint, and was completely unsurprised to see Clint's gaze glaring right back. Did the damn kid have to make his birthday a battle every single year?

Dan rolled his eyes and moved towards the door, charts tucked under his arm.

"I'll take that as a 'yes', see you then." Then Dan was pushing his way through the gym doors and out of sight.

Clint was scowling again so Phil just ignored him.

"What's tonight?" Rachel asked as she tucked Clint's therapy chart under her arm and looked first at Phil and then at Clint.

"Nothing," Clint insisted with a slight growl.

It was Phil's turn to roll his eyes.

"Today's Clint's birthday," he explained. He ignored the heated glare he got for his confession.

Rachel's eyes widened and she pulled the chart out from under her arm, eyes going to the spot Phil knew held Clint's birthdate.

"Well, well, look at that, Birthday Boy." She grinned teasingly and jabbed Clint's good arm with the chart. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Clint's eyebrow arched, clearing asking without words 'why the hell would I?'

To Rachel's credit, she just smirked.

"So how old are you?"

Clint just silently glared at her, so Phil helpfully jumped in.

"21." And that was the _third_ glare he'd gotten in as many minutes. Clint was already annoyed, so no use tapping the breaks now. "We're taking him to the city to celebrate properly."

"Phil," Clint growled out. But Phil ignored him. And so did Rachel.

"21! Wow – that's a hell of a milestone. God, I don't even remember my 21st birthday..." she trailed off with a nostalgic smile.

"That's…great," Clint muttered sarcastically before angling for the door.

"Happy birthday!" Rachel called after him. "And, you know, _bye_."

Clint waved a vaguely acknowledging hand over his shoulder but then pushed out of the gym. Phil offered her an apologetic grimace.

"His birthday really brings out the best in him, doesn't it?" she deadpanned.

Phil just chuckled.

"You don't even know the half of it." He headed for the door. "We'll see you Tuesday."

"Bye, Phil," she replied with a laugh.

He offered her a wave and then jogged to catch up to Clint.

"Hey," he called as he came up beside the archer. "What's with the scowling and growling?"

"I told you, I don't want to make a big deal about…" He motioned vaguely with his right hand.

"Your birthday?" Phil finished with a slight frown. When Clint confirmed it with a glance, Phil's frown deepened. "We've been over this. We're celebrating wheth-"

"I don't have a problem with celebrating." Clint interrupted him sharply as they turned the corner into the residence hall. "I didn't give you shit last year, did I?"

"Well…no, but you also didn't remember it was your birthday until I was standing in your room _telling _you." Clint shot him a sideways glare and Phil shrugged unapologetically. It was_ true_. "So if it's not the celebrating, then what is it?" Phil asked as they made their way to Clint's door.

Clint paused outside it, turning to lean against the wall next to the palm reader.

"A bar crawl?" Clint questioned doubtfully. "Is it just me, or does that sound like a horrible way to celebrate my 21st?"

Phil just stared at him and wondered if Clint had even _heard_ what had just come out of his mouth.

"I'm pretty sure it's just you, Clint…that's kind of how _most_ people celebrate their 21st. It's practically a rite of passage."

Clint frowned and didn't look any more convinced.

"It's not that big of a deal," Phil cajoled. "It's a chance for you to do what every other 21 year old does, for _once_. A chance for you to get away from base and forget about all this shit," he motioned at the sling encasing Clint's arm, "for a while."

Clint still didn't look anywhere near enthusiastic. Phil narrowed his eyes, trying to deduce what exactly the problem here was.

"Is it the drinking? You don't think you'll like the alcohol?"

Clint rolled his eyes in such a patronizing way that Phil suddenly felt like a clueless parent who'd missed something obvious.

"Phil, I hate to burst whatever little altar boy bubble you've got going on, but this will _not_ be my first experience with alcohol." A smirk quirked Clint's lips. "And just to cover our bases, I don't need the birds and the bees talk anymore either."

Phil felt his neck redden and forced himself to stay on point.

"So if it's not the drinking, what is it?"

Clint drew his lower lip into his teeth and chewed it for a moment without replying.

"Clint?"

"It's the _excessive_ drinking, all right?" Clint snapped. "How does Wilson keep putting it? Getting 'shit faced?'" He used his right hand to throw up a sarcastic air quote. "That doesn't sound like my definition of a good time."

Phil paused, the fire in Clint's tone catching him off guard.

"They were just joking around. They're excited to celebrate with you," he replied carefully. "Nobody said you _had_ to get drunk, kid."

Clint pushed off the wall.

"What about all that 'rite of passage' shit?" he accused lowly, throwing Phil's own words back in his face. "It's what _normal_ 21 year olds do, isn't it?" He spat the word 'normal' like it was poison on his tongue. It left Phil wondering when exactly he'd lost control of the conversation.

"Clint…"

But now that he'd started talking, Clint didn't seem to be inclined to stop.

"All those _normal_ 21 year olds – they're goddamned idiots. All getting drunk does is make you lose control. Hell, that's probably what most of them are looking for – an excuse to do whatever the hell they want cuz _why not? _They can just blame it on the alcohol." The sarcastic grin on Clint's face held no hint of humor and Phil was glad to see it fade away as the archer went on, "But what nobody seems to think about…is that when people lose control, they do stupid shit. Stupid shit like getting into their fucking truck, running a red light and slamming into a minivan. And the _only_ thing to come out of _that_ – was turning two kids into orphans."

And then – with Clint practically spelling it out for him – Phil finally understood.

He was suddenly pissed at himself for not putting it together sooner. It had been there, staring him in the face the whole time. He should have realized what was going on the moment Clint started rebelling against all birthday talk _days_ ago. This wasn't just any birthday. It was his 21st. It was the birthday in which the consumption of alcohol became legal and traditionally involved taking advantage of that newfound privilege.

But here he had a kid whose parents were killed by a drunk driver.

Shit.

Now Phil felt nine kinds of stupid…and more than a few shades insensitive.

"Jesus, Clint…I didn't…" But Phil just trailed off with a helpless shrug as he scrubbed his hand roughly across his face. "I'm sorry."

Clint shook his head and blew out a frustrated sigh, dropping back to lean against the wall as if the energy had just drained out of him.

"I don't want an apology. What were you supposed to do? Read my mind? We've talked about my parents what? Once? Twice? I'm not mad at you, Phil. How were you supposed to know?"

Why was Clint always absolving him of his guilt before he'd had a chance to properly feel it?

His point was fair, though. They'd only discussed Clint's parents twice. That first Christmas, spent in the infirmary in Brazil after the Andes, had brought up all sorts of sad memories of another Christmas spent in a hospital and of a six-year-old boy who'd thought Santa would bring his parents back. They'd talked about it then, but only briefly, and really only to the end that Phil understood Clint didn't want to celebrate that particular holiday.

It had come up again only days later, when Clint had handed him his ledger. But that conversation had been about something so much bigger. They'd blown past the start to the story and onto what Clint had really been trying to tell him that day.

Clint had never really told him anything else and Phil hadn't asked. Now he wondered if maybe he should have. But it hadn't seemed necessary. Clint wasn't haunted by it, at least not in the way he was haunted by all the other horrible turns his life had taken. He rarely dreamed about it and he never talked about it. There had always been a bigger concern when it came to Clint's vicious subconscious.

How _could_ he have known?

But Phil still felt like he should have…and he felt like he'd let Clint down because he hadn't.

"I'm still sorry," he offered quietly. "I should have thought about it." Clint opened his mouth, probably to absolve him again, but Phil held up a hand. "No. I _should_ have. But kid, why didn't you say something _days_ ago?"

Clint shrugged his good shoulder and reached to rub his hand through his hair.

"You guys were all so excited and I figured _maybe_ I could just roll with it, but…" he blew out a breath and clenched his jaw. He didn't have to go on, Phil already knew.

"You dreamed about it."

Clint's jaw clenched tighter, making the muscle at its base twitch.

"Kid, why didn't you _tell me_?"

"I don't know," Clint tossed up a hand in a helpless gesture. "It wasn't that bad."

"It was obviously bad enough."

"I was _fine_." The almost wild defensiveness that sprung up in Clint's posture was the exact opposite of what Phil wanted out of this conversation, so he held up a placating hand.

"Okay," he allowed calmly. It was the kid's birthday, he could give him this one. "Okay," he said again. When Clint's shoulders lost a little of their tension, Phil took a breath and started again, trying a different tactic.

"I know that this is going to be hard for you, but I still want you to come out with us tonight."

"Phil…" Clint was shaking his head already, ready to refuse.

"Hear me out, kid, please?" Phil entreated. He met Clint's gaze openly and honestly. The archer should know by now that Phil would _never _do anything to cause him pain. He hoped that knowledge was enough to allow him an explanation.

When Clint didn't offer further protest, Phil went on.

"The job you do here, it has already required you to go undercover. One day it's going to require that again. In the world we deal in people drink and sometimes they _do_ get drunk. You're going to have to deal with that, but more than _that_, one day you're going to have to drink with them."

He watched Clint start chewing the inside of his lip, but the archer stayed silent, listening.

"Tonight is a chance for you to learn your threshold because one day knowing that could save your life."

He could see that logic ringing true in Clint's gaze, so he took that as permission to keep going.

"You don't have to get drunk, _none_ of us will. You don't have to do 21 shots," Phil smirked, "not that I'd have let you do that anyway. You don't have to drink past whatever point you're comfortable with. But I think you _should_ experiment a little…see how much it takes to start affecting you so that you'll always _know_ in the future if it's happening too fast."

"Like if some tries to drug me." Clint nodded slowly.

"Exactly," Phil agreed, sensing victory. "We'll keep it low key, one bar, no crawling involved. Just a group of guys, hanging out and celebrating your newly legal status."

Clint sighed and after a moment, nodded. It wasn't exactly glowing enthusiasm, but he'd take it. He just wished he hadn't had to turn it into a training exercise, the night was supposed to be about getting _away _from that type of thing.

But he'd take the win for what it was.

"Good." Phil smiled. "Now go get cleaned up and pack a bag because we're staying the night in the city." He was pleased when Clint perked up a little at that, a night away from SHIELD that wasn't mission related was rare. "We're rolling out in about an hour, I figure we can get some lunch at John's and kill the afternoon playing tourist. Anything in the city you've wanted to do and haven't?"

Clint opened his mouth to no doubt deny it, but then paused.

"The Empire State Building." He finally admitted. "I've never been to the top."

Phil smiled widely and clapped Clint on his good shoulder.

"Kid, I think we can make that happen."

* * *

"We're goddamned idiots." Todd lamented as he dropped his face into his palm. "How did _none_ of us think about his parents?"

Phil sighed and shrugged helplessly. He'd hadn't stopped berating himself for the oversight since he'd left Clint. Never mind that Clint didn't hold it against him, Phil held it against himself.

"At least neither of _you_ kept going on about getting him shit-faced in proper 21st birthday fashion." Dan groused as he slouched in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he straightened slightly, tossing a slightly alarmed look at Phil. "Technically, I mean, I'm not condoning getting shit-faced, I'm a doctor, but the idea of Barton letting go of the control for once seemed like a good thing!" He slouched back again and sighed. "Either way, I think the insensitivity award goes to me this round."

"None of us was particularly tactful in how we handled it," Phil pointed out. "But it's over now. We know. I even got him agree to come out with us anyway." Phil sighed. "I _did_ have to turn it into a sort of training exercise, but that's neither here nor there."

"I'm guessing the bar crawl I meticulously mapped out isn't included in whatever plan he agreed to." Todd sighed.

Phil shook his head.

"He agreed to _one_ stop. So make it a good one, low key and relaxed. I do want him to _enjoy_ himself after all."

"Giordano's." Todd replied immediately. "It's perfect. It's about as low key as you can get. It's on the NYU scene, but it's not a frat bar. I think the kid'll like it."

"A college bar." Dan smiled sarcastically. "We'll fit right in."

* * *

Phil watched Clint look out over the city, right hand propped on his hip, and a _very_ calculating set to his posture. Off to their left, Dan was feeding quarters into one of the standing binocular devices and Todd was snapping pictures of the skyline from _every_ possible angle. Apparently Dan had only been up here once, as a child, and Todd had never been at all.

Who knew?

Clint's head tilted slightly to the left and then slowly tipped back and twisted to look up at the highest point of the tower. Phil couldn't see his eyes because of the sunglasses he was wearing, but he knew what the archer was thinking anyway.

"Don't even think about it," he scolded abruptly.

Clint's head snapped around to look at him and an eyebrow arched over the frame of the sunglasses.

"What?" he defended with an affronted huff. "I didn't do anything."

"You were thinking it," Phil accused. "King Kong, you are _not_."

Clint huffed again and moved over the binocular stand Dan was manning, but not without muttering just loud enough for Phil to hear,

"Kill joy."

Phil shook his head and sighed in affectionate exasperation. Clint wanting to climb the Empire State Building – with only _one_ arm – he really should have seen that coming.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Clint asked from where he sat next to Phil on the subway. Todd and Dan sat on Phil's other side.

Todd leaned forward and looked around Phil to shoot Clint a glare.

"What did I say I would do if you asked that again?"

Clint smirked, which made Phil grin.

"Sorry." But he didn't sound sorry. A beat passed. "So are we there yet?"

Phil choked on a laugh and Todd muttered something under his breath and sat back without replying.

Dan leaned forward next and in his best patriarchal tone said,

"Young man, I will turn this subway car around if you don't behave."

_That_ got an honest to God laugh out of Clint and _that_ had Phil smiling once again.

* * *

"It's just around the block," Bryan announced as he led the way up the stairs to street level once they'd gotten off the subway. Clint stayed in step with Phil, but kept his attention on the area around them. There were always so many damned people in the city. It was nearly impossible to track and assess all of them. But he'd gotten _very_ good at reading crowds and he put that skill to use now.

It wasn't until they rounded the corner that it really sunk in _where_ they were in the city. He'd known, of course – he usually made a consistent effort to always know where he was – but he hadn't really processed it until the old carved wooden sign came into view.

Giordano's.

Well _shit_.

"Something wrong?" Phil asked suddenly from beside him.

"No," Clint denied, maybe a little too quickly. He quickened his pace before Phil could question him further. "This the place?" He asked over Bryan's shoulder.

"Yep. You're gonna love it, kid. I think it's just your style."

Clint dropped back a step, ignoring Phil's gaze lingering on his profile. He barely stopped himself from hesitating before he followed Bryan and Wilson through the door.

The bar had a very classic feel to it with dim lighting, a long, polished wooden bar on the left and a scattering of tables on the right. An old juke box sat at the back of the room, but there was a small stage in the back right corner that Clint knew showcased a live band on Friday and Saturday nights. And even though it was Sunday, there were quite a few patrons scattered around.

"Nice." Wilson whistled lowly in appreciation.

Bryan nodded and turned to Clint.

"What do you think, k-"

"John?" A beautifully accented female voice, one Clint knew quite well, rang out across the room. Without giving the men with him a chance to react, he broke off from them and moved to the bar. The bar tender, a beautiful, petite, brown-haired, brown-eyed, full-blooded Italian, moved along the back of the bar to meet him at the front corner.

Without any preamble, she leaned across the bar and kissed him.

* * *

Todd, Dan and Phil all stared in wide eyed, slack jawed shock.

Todd broke from the stupor first, huffing a laugh.

"Well…I'll be damned."

"Did you know about this?" Dan asked Phil with a growing smirk.

Phil, for his part, just continued to stare, shaking his head mutely. They all watched the bartender pull back from Clint and offer the archer a warm smile. But when she spoke, it was to them.

"There's an open table in the back, boys."

It took Dan nudging him roughly, but eventually Phil moved with Todd and Dan to the mentioned table. He didn't take his eyes off Clint, though, as the archer casually – and seemingly _comfortably_ – talked with the bartender.

Todd had it right.

"I'll be damned." Phil repeated the words with a disbelieving huff.

* * *

"I've not seen you around lately." Her voice – so beautifully accented to reflect her Italian heritage – was like smooth, sweet honey. Clint could lose time easily listening to her talk, which was made even more appealing because it meant he didn't have to do much talking of his own.

Clint shrugged his good shoulder in response and cut his eyes over to where Phil, Wilson, and Bryan were taking their seats at a table. Satisfied no one was having coronary over the current turn of events, Clint returned his attention to the girl – Elena Russo, who happened to be his current…_something_.

"I'm here now." He offered her a grin. "So how've you been, Elena?" he asked as he leaned against the bar and met her gaze.

"Better than you, it seems." Elena smiled at him, but there was a shadow of worry in her eyes as they drifted over the sling that held his arm to his chest.

"Dirt bike accident," he explained before she could ask.

Her gaze narrowed slightly, but then she nodded, accepting his excuse without question – just like she always did.

"You should be more careful," she teased lightly. She glanced over at Phil, Wilson and Bryan. "Friends of yours?" she asked with a nod in their direction even as her gaze shifted back to his.

"You could say that…although, the one that's staring at us really intensely," Clint quirked his lips and kept his eyes locked with hers, "and is looking a little like he just bit into a lemon…he's more like family." Phil was more than even that, so much more, but he couldn't explain that to her. He didn't even know if he could really explain it to himself. Phil was just…more.

She smiled and leaned against the bar, resting on her elbows so they were only separated by a few inches.

"You've never mentioned family before."

"Well, talking isn't really what you and I do best," Clint replied with an easy grin.

Her smile slid into a smirk and she didn't deny it. They stared at each other for a long moment before she withdrew and started absently drying the freshly cleaned glasses that were on the counter, effectively breaking the tension sparking between them.

"So what's the occasion?"

Clint drew his brows together and feigned ignorance.

"What do you mean?"

She nodded towards Phil and the others again.

"You've been coming here for over two years, sitting alone at the end of the bar and never drinking more than one draft…and in all that time, you've _never_ brought anyone with you." She met his gaze squarely and arched a dark eyebrow. "So…what's the occasion?"

He didn't think she'd take it very well if he clarified that technically _they'd_ brought _him_, so he decided to just go with something close to the truth.

"Well, we're celebrating," he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

Elena continued to stare at him, waiting for more.

Clint grimaced and blew out a sigh. Looked like he wasn't getting away without the whole truth.

"It's my birthday."

She nearly dropped the glass she was drying.

"It's your _what_?" she demanded in a pitch that was suddenly a few levels higher than it had been before. He smirked, glad he'd managed to catch her off guard.

"My birthday." He grinned teasingly. "Don't they have those in Italy?"

She glared and snapped her towel at him half-heartedly.

"I didn't _know_ it was your birthday." She put down the glass she was drying and leaned across the bar again. "You know, I've learned more about you in the past two minutes than I have in the last two years."

Clint arched an eyebrow.

"Are you dissatisfied," he smirked, "with the way we've been doing things?"

Her lips curved into a slow, seductive smirk as she let her eyes drift to scan the half of his body she could see over the bar. When she brought her gaze back up to meet his again, she leaned closer.

"Oh I've been _very_ satisfied." She held his gaze and went on in a low warm voice. "Though it is nice to finally know more than your name and your major."

"Well, now you know my birthday." He offered her a genuine smile. She never asked for anything from him, he could give her this without complaint. Even if it _was_ the only truth she knew about him.

She smiled in return, genuine and warm.

"Happy Birthday, John," she said in a tone to match the smile.

He gave her another smile and a slight nod of thanks.

"If you come by after my shift, we can have our own celebration."

The promise in those words was unmistakable.

"Well, that does sound appealing." He tilted his head towards the others without actually looking at them. "But I promised them a guys' night."

She held his gaze for a long, silent moment and then nodded.

"Next time then."

He nodded once in return.

"Next time."

"Now," she leaned back, breaking the spell, and offered him a smile to show that there were no hurt feelings over the rejection, "what can I get you?"

"I can't speak for them, but for me…" he smirked, "surprise me." Phil _had_ told him to experiment. He trusted Elena, at least, not to poison or drug him.

She smiled widely.

"I happen to have a talent for picking the perfect drink to fit a person."

"With a claim like that, I leave my fate in your hands." He waved her on dramatically.

"For you," she considered him seriously for a long moment, "something simple…masculine." She grinned and reached for a bottle off the shelf behind her and then retrieved a glass. She only filled the glass partway and then slid it across the bar to him.

He arched an eyebrow in question.

"Scotch. Neat." She nodded for him to try it, so he did.

Clint often prided himself on his ability to keep his game face under even the most horrifying circumstances. It was that talent alone that kept him from coughing out the burn that the drink left in his throat with the first sip. He did allow himself an arched eyebrow, because so far the he was rethinking his conviction that she wouldn't poison him.

"Scotch is not a drink to be judged at the first sip." Elena braced her elbows on the bar and watched him. "My father once told me, the first sip," she shook her head and made a face, "burns…tastes horrible to most. The second is not much better…but if you can make it to a third, then no drink will ever be its equal in your eyes."

"I'm holding you to your word on that," Clint teased as he pushed back from the bar. "Why don't you get us a few of the best you've got on draft?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Coming right up."

He nodded, lifted his glass of scotch off the bar top and headed to join the others.

* * *

"One of you will have to go get the first round when she's done pouring," Clint announced as approached the table.

Phil watch Clint pull his chair out with his foot and then sit, taking a sip from whatever drink the bartender had given him. They all stared at him, but Clint just sat casually, pretending not to notice.

It was Todd that broke first.

"So," the trainer smirked, "you've been here before," he observed.

Clint shrugged his good shoulder.

"A few times."

Wasn't that just wonderfully vague, and so, so _Clint._

Todd snorted. "With a greeting like _that_, I'd say it's been way more than a few times."

"I thought you didn't drink?" Dan challenged, eyebrow arched.

"I never said I didn't drink, just that I don't do _drunk_," Clint replied with a firm glare at first Dan, and then both Phil and Todd. It was as if he felt they needed reminding of that fact.

"Tonight, kid, none of us do." Todd issued the promise sincerely and met Clint's gaze as he did.

After a moment, Clint nodded slightly and took another sip from his drink. Then he grew momentarily contemplative before quirking his lips and nodding slightly as if something had just been confirmed in his mind.

"Who is she?" Phil asked, unable to keep his tone from sounding slightly stern. He was glad Clint seemed to be content, but relationships outside of SHIELD were dangerous and posed all kinds of security risks. If this girl knew _anything…_

"Relax, Phil." Clint scolded him with a patronizing grin. "She thinks I'm some adrenaline junkie, kinesiology major."

"Adrenaline junkie?" Dan jutted his chin at Clint's shoulder. "Is that how you explain stuff like that?"

Clint nodded.

"And how do you explain the bullet wounds and knife scars?" Todd challenged curiously.

Clint shifted a little in his seat, the only indication that he didn't particularly want to explain himself.

"Talking isn't really our priority."

"I bet not." Dan snickered.

Clint shot him a glare, to which Dan just smirked.

"Damn, kid," Todd shook his head in awe, "I'm actually a little impressed."

Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head as if they were all being ridiculous. He slid a hesitant glance at Phil as he took another sip from his drink, but didn't hold his gaze.

"Why are you the only one with a drink?" Dan demanded suddenly.

"You could fix that." Clint jerked his head towards the bar. Dan exchanged a challenging look with Todd, who just stared back.

"Fine." Dan stood and headed to the bar.

Phil ignored the momentary distraction and asked his own, unanswered, question again.

"Who is she?"

Clint sighed.

"Elena Russo. She's a junior at NYU."

"How long have you known her?"

"Jesus, Phil," Clint groaned as they both watched Dan return with a tray of beers, "can we save the third degree?"

Phil narrowed his eyes. Clint wasn't even deflecting, he was just outright _refusing_ to talk about it. It made Phil even more worried that this girl might know something she shouldn't.

"Yeah, Phil, cut the kid a break." Todd grinned. "It _is_ his birthday after all."

"Yeah." Clint agreed with a smirk. "It's my _birthday._"

Phil hesitated for a moment, but ultimately couldn't refuse the pleading in Clint's gaze. He sighed and threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine." He reached to take one of the beers from the tray Dan had set on the table. "Speaking of birthdays, this one is pretty monumental and so I'd like to say a little something…"

Clint groaned again and dropped his face into his hand.

"Phil…"

"Hey, I've told you before and I'll tell you again…I'm celebrating, so you're gonna let me goddamned celebrate."

Clint parted his fingers and half-heartedly glared at Phil through the gap the action created, but didn't offer protest again.

Phil took his silence as permission to continue. He cleared his throat and wrapped his hands around his drink.

"In a few months, we're going to be celebrating three years since that day you and I met in that alley in Vienna. In those three years, I've watched you go from an 18-year-old kid that was _so_ angry and so…" Phil shook his head, not willing to put voice to those parts of Clint that had been hidden from everyone but _him – _not while Dan and Todd were there he couldn't help the rush of emotion he felt as he remembered that broken teenager. He let his gaze settle on Clint and offered him a warm smile in an attempt to regain his composure.

Clint had let his hand drop from his face and was listening quietly now. His gaze was open and sincere, so different than it had been at this time two years ago. Phil had battled to even get Clint to _acknowledge_ his birthday back then…and had fought hard to convince him he was _worth_ celebrating. It was a battle he still fought every day and would maybe always be fighting.

So much had changed, but that never had. Clint's worth in his own eyes had barely even shifted, much less risen to where Phil, himself, held it.

"And now," Phil huffed a warm, affectionate laugh, "here we are…and everything has changed. You are the strongest, most self-sacrificing, _stubborn_ person I have ever met and I wish you could see what _I_ see when I look at you." That last thought was sobering as he took in the sling encasing Clint's arm. That sling was there because Clint _didn't_ see it, or hadn't five weeks ago. He didn't see what he meant to Phil, what he meant to anyone. For someone who prided himself on seeing _everything_, Clint had a way of being blind when it came to himself. Phil had tried to make him understand, and knew Clint had heard him when they'd argued on that rooftop at the Vienna base. But _hearing_ and believing were two very different things. Phil would spend however long it took to make Clint _believe_ it.

"Knowing you, becoming _family_ to you…that has been the best thing I've ever had in my life. And the _only_ thing I would change…" he held Clint's gaze seriously, "is to have met you sooner…to have protected you from…" Phil felt emotion swell again and he swallowed.

"Phil." Clint interrupted quietly. He shook his head, and Phil felt as if he were willing him to leave that train of thought behind. Phil nodded. There was no changing the past. There was no way to undo the devastation of losing his parents, the trauma of Phillip Jacobs, the betrayal of his brother, or the darkness of the years that followed. But he could look to the future, and he could help Clint keep moving forward. So he cleared his throat and raised his glass.

"You're my family, kid. Nothing will _ever _change that. So here's to 21 years."

"Here's to 21 more," Todd added meaningfully as he raised his glass too. Clint gave Todd a nod of acknowledgment and lifted his own glass. They all looked at Dan, waiting for him to do the same.

Instead he cleared his throat.

"Well, if we're making toasts, I've got something I want to say too."

He stood and raised his beer. Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Phil kicked his shin under the table, silencing him.

"Here's to a damned fine person, especially the kind who decided that _remembering_ what happened on his 21st birthday would be better than it being a blur." Dan gave Clint a sheepish smile. "Thanks, kid, for agreeing to have some fun tonight."

The corner of Clint's mouth quirked slightly and Phil knew he understood the meaning behind the words. Putting aside all of his misgivings hadn't been an easy task for Clint, and they all knew that.

"So," Dan cleared his throat, "here's to you, Bar…" Dan trailed off, glanced at the bar, and then looked back at Clint. "Uhh…_John_. We'll go with John."

"Well shit, if everybody else is waxing poetic." Todd interjected with a smirk. "I guess it's my turn."

"Jesus, you too? You don't have t-" Clint tried to intervene before Phil could stop him.

"Kid, put up and shut up." Todd scolded firmly. "I swear to God, you can take a dressing down like its nothing but a gentle breeze, but somebody tries to pay you a compliment and it's like you're being asked to endure an arctic blast."

Clint snapped his mouth shut and scowled, which made Todd smirk.

"Now…keep your mouth shut and let me say my piece." He met Clint's gaze squarely. "Kid, you are made of the toughest shit I've ever seen. I'm pretty damn sure you're a hell of a lot smarter than most everyone on base and what you can do with a weapon and a target down range…" Todd whistled lowly. "I will forever be in awe. You're also the biggest pain in the ass I've ever known…so I think I speak for all of us when I say, please do your damndest to make it 21 more, okay?"

Clint, sincerity rising in his gaze again, nodded.

"To _John_." Phil raised his glass again, giving Clint a teasing smirk as he did.

"To John." Todd and Dan repeated in unison.

Clint looked for a moment like he would put them in their place for the teasing, but then he just rolled his eyes like it wasn't worth his trouble and raised his glass too.

* * *

They stepped off the elevator two by two, with Todd and Dan leading the way.

"Well, this has to be a first in 21st birthday history," Dan glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "It's only midnight and we're back at the hotel."

"Nobody's stopping you from painting the town red, Doc." Clint shot back with a teasing smirk.

"Don't let him fool you, kid." Todd spoke up. "He's been yawning behind your back for the last hour." At Dan's glare of betrayal, Todd smirked and clapped the doctor on the shoulder. "It sucks getting old, doesn't it?"

"I don't know who you're calling old," Dan defended. "I'm in my _prime_."

"I'm pretty sure the only one still in their 'prime', is me," Clint countered cockily. "I believe _that's_ why I'm the field agent and you're all the support team."

Todd shook his head mockingly.

"Support team, my ass. Put a little alcohol in him and suddenly he's all cocky and shit."

"Where've you been?" Dan put in as he slid the key to his and Todd's shared room out of his pocket. "He's _always_ been cocky and shit."

"The doctor is right." Todd nodded and leaned against the wall next to the door as he waited for Dan to unlock their room. "I don't know why we put up with you." The words were said with a grin full of such warmth that there was no way they could be taken as anything but affectionate.

"It's my charming personality," Clint replied as he waited for Phil to unlock the room they'd be sharing.

"Yeah. _Charming_. That's what you are. Charming as a fucking rattlesnake." Dan scoffed as he pushed his door open and stepped into the room, propping the door with his body. "Tonight was fun, kid. And surprisingly…you know, memorable, and I mean that in the most literal way. And even though your birthday is now technically over, I'll say it one more time. Happy Birthday."

"Yeah, what he said…" Todd reached out and lightly punched Clint's good shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning."

Clint gave them both a parting wave and followed Phil into their room.

"So," Phil shed his jacket and tossed it onto one of the two double beds, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Clint crossed the room and dropped down onto the other bed, bringing a booted foot up to rest on the edge so he could work on the laces with his right hand.

"Well, it didn't suck."

"With standards like that, we were bound to succeed." Phil chewed his lip for a moment as he watched Clint finish with one boot and toe his way out of it before starting in on the other. "So…Elena Russo."

Clint huffed a laugh and shook his head ruefully.

"I knew you weren't going to let it go."

"Would _you_, if it had been me?"

Clint finished with his second boot and kicked it off, sitting back so he could waggle an eyebrow at Phil.

"Do you have something to tell me, Phil? Been sneaking around in the broom closets on base? Who is she?"

Phil shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He'd had too much to drink to adequately navigate Clint's fast talk right now. _Clint _on the other hand, had turned out to have a fairly high tolerance and had stopped drinking the moment he felt even the slightest buzz. Whatever buzz _that_ had been had worn off on the walk back to the hotel. How was it that the one turning 21 years old, was the soberest of the group?

"There is no she. I'm not talking about me."

Clint feigned confusion.

"Who _were_ we talking about? Because _you're _the one that brought _you_ up."

"Clint." Phil sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly. "Cut it out with the double talk shit. I know you're just doing it to mess with me."

Clint rolled his eyes and scooted back on his bed until he was leaning against the headboard.

"How is it that you're the one that's buzzed, but you're also the one being a buzz _kill?_"

"I'm not buzzed." Phil countered, though even _he _knew it was a lie.

Now Clint looked a mixture between doubtful and amused.

"You're a little buzzed."

"You and Elena." Phil redirected the conversation back to where it had started. For someone who seemed to hate talking, when he wanted to, Clint could talk circles around anyone. It was useful on the job, but frustrating when Phil was the one trying to get a straight answer.

Clint sighed and raised his hand in defeat.

"Fine. What do you want to know?"

"How about you just start from the beginning."

Clint arched a mischievous eyebrow.

"Really, Phil? You want _all_ the details because there are some things that should stay between a man and a woman."

Phil sat heavily on the edge of his own bed and dropped his face down into his hands.

"Clint, I don't have the mental capacity for your usual bullshit. I'm trying to figure out if I need to be reporting a security leak."

He didn't have to be looking at Clint to know that the snapped reply had been poorly received. He could practically _feel_ the archer tensing. The hurt heavily overshadowed by anger in Clint's tone when he responded just confirmed it.

"You actually think I'd be that stupid?"

Phil sighed, already regretting the snapped words, but also selfishly acknowledging that Clint had been baiting him. God, maybe Clint had a point about drinking.

"I don't know. Why don't _you_ tell _me_?"

Clint scowled, all traces of good humor fading and leaving Phil full of regret for ruining his good mood.

"She doesn't know anything. After the Andes, I had a lot of time on my hands. You already know about the orphanage."

Phil nodded, remember when Clint took him to a small orphanage almost a year ago now and introduced him as his brother. An orphanage Clint had been silently funding.

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the only place I spent my time."

"Clint…that was over two years ago."

"Yeah, well…" Clint shrugged his good shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"And rush my encounter with _this_ wonderful interrogation? I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy." The sarcasm was not veiled, thinly or otherwise.

"This isn't an interrogation."

"Yeah? Tell that to your face."

Phil made an immediate effort to soften his features and forced himself to sound something other than stern when he spoke.

"Not an interrogation." He said again, holding out a hand in a sign of peace. "It's just _me_, asking you to help me understand."

Clint's features softened as well and he offered a contrite quirk of his lips.

"After the Andes," he started with a deep breath, "I went looking for normal. I don't know, something about getting shot, held hostage, tortured and subsequently rescued only to nearly die from infection anyway, just didn't scream _average joe_ to me…and after all that shit with Christmas…I just wanted to forget," he sighed, "this life for a while."

Phil couldn't help but incline his head in agreement. He couldn't fault Clint for that, everybody needed to escape now and then…some more than others.

"So I wandered into Giordano's one night, took a seat the back of the bar, worked my way through a beer over the course of a few hours and just…watched. Watched the people come and go and interact…People are damned fascinating if you pay attention."

Phil arched an eyebrow.

"You were 18. How did you get a beer?"

"Phil…is that _really_ the part of this story you want to focus on?"

"You kept one of your fake IDs SHIELD supplied, didn't you?" Phil realized with an amused – and unsurprised – shake of his head.

"Anyway," Clint pressed on, neither confirming nor denying, "she came on shift while I was there and I guess I caught her eye."

"_She_ made the first move?"

"What? Do you think I go trolling for women, Phil?" Clint questioned with not a little amused sarcasm. "I was just minding my own and she walks up and the rest…" Clint shrugged, "just kind of fell into place."

Phil nodded slowly, processing.

"So who is she?" he asked curiously. It would take more than just a girl batting her eyelashes to catch Clint's attention and keep it.

"She was a freshman at NYU at the time, a junior now. A family friend that emigrated from Italy a generation ago apparently owns the place and gave her a job tending bar when she got here."

"And you two…" Phil remembered Clint's words from earlier in the night, "don't do much talking?"

Clint shook his head and smirked at the reddening of Phil's neck.

"And what talking we _do_ isn't exactly heavy in truth. She thinks I'm studying kinesiology and that I'm an adrenaline junkie who takes frequent trips to feed that addiction. It's really not anything serious, Phil," Clint insisted quietly. "She's just a girl I hook up with sometimes to get my mind off SHIELD and the shit that entails."

"And her? Does she feel the same way?" He really hoped Clint wasn't leading this girl on, making her believe there was a future when there couldn't be.

"God, I'm not an asshole," Clint snapped in offense. "The no strings was _her_ idea to begin with, she brought it up before I even had to. She's going back to Italy when she graduates. In the last two years she's had two different boyfriends and we've gone months without even a word. It's _nothing_, I swear."

Phil nodded slowly. This girl, Elena, was either damned perceptive, or she was what one would call promiscuous. Phil hoped it was the former. He hoped that she realized that Clint would always be coming and going, and had chosen to be satisfied with whatever she could get with him. That thought, it really just further proved her perceptiveness…because in whatever time she'd known Clint, she'd apparently seen in him whatever quality it was that tended to endear people to him…whether he wanted them to or not.

"I'm still wondering," Phil drew Clint's attention again, "why you didn't tell me."

"I don't know, Phil." Clint shrugged his right shoulder. "I guess it was just nice to have something that had nothing to do with SHIELD."

"And that's what I am? I'm just SHIELD?"

"You _were_…then."

It hurt a little to hear, even if he knew it was the truth. Clint had only just started to really trust him back then, had only barely started to believe SHIELD could really offer him a future.

"And now?" Phil challenged.

Clint's mouth quirked into a crooked grin and nodded at the sling immobilizing his arm.

"I think we both know the answer to that."

Phil couldn't hold back his own smile, despite the reference. Clint stepping in front of a bullet for him would haunt him for the rest of his life, but what that action had _meant_…what it said about how Clint felt about him…issues with lack of self-worth aside, it had spoken volumes. That wave of emotion was enough to convince him to let Clint off the hook.

"I have a surprise for you."

Clint blinked, looking momentarily stunned by the abrupt change of subject.

"You what?"

"I have a surprise for you," Phil repeated even as he stood and headed for the mini fridge. He carefully withdrew the small cake he'd hidden in there earlier in the day. It was already adorned with 21 candles, which ended up covering nearly the entire top of the cake. Sneaking it into the room without Clint knowing had been a challenge, but it was worth it.

He turned with the cake, already fishing the lighter – which he'd bought from the corner store for just this moment – out of his pocket.

"Getting this into the room," Phil smiled as he started lighting candles even as he moved back towards Clint, "without you noticing, was _not_ easy. But everybody should have a cake on their birthday."

"Phil," Clint shook his head in something like looked like a mixture of awe and exasperation, "you didn't have to do this."

"I know I didn't _have_ to." Phil lit the last of the candles and sat on the edge of Clint's bed, holding the blazing cake out to him. "Did you ever consider that maybe I _wanted_ to?"

Clint gaze shifted down and away, always so unsure of himself in the face of genuine affection.

"Hey." Phil waited until Clint's eyes came back up to meet his. "Worth celebrating, remember?"

Clint's lips quirked slightly.

"But we celebrated already."

"Yes, but that was with Dan and Todd. This is just for us, just for you."

Clint stared at him for a long, quiet moment and then he smiled, fully and genuinely.

"Phil, you are the most sentimental son of a bitch I've ever met…and I've known some sentimental sons of bitches."

Phil hoped he heard about those sons of bitches one day, hoped he got the chance to thank them for whatever sentiment they'd shown Clint.

"Does that mean you're going to stop resisting and blow out your goddamned candles before we set off the fire alarm?"

"So pushy," Clint muttered good naturedly as he leaned forward and drew in a breath.

"Make a wish!" Phil demanded abruptly. Clint paused, mid-inhale and looked up at him. He let the breath he'd drawn in flow back out and arched an eyebrow.

"You're kidding, right?" Clint sounded so serious, like he was certain Phil _was, _in fact, kidding.

"That's what you _do _in this situation, Clint. You make a wish and blow out your candles." Phil gestured at the cake, now sitting on the bed between them.

"Phil…it's important to me that you acknowledge that you _know_ that's a bunch of bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, it's tradition."

"It's a waste of brain power is what it is."

"Now who's the buzz kill," Phil shot back with a scowl. "Fine, have it your way."

"Well it is _my_ birthday cake."

"Just blow out your damn candles."

Clint drew in a breath again and blew it out, effectively extinguishing the little flames.

"Look at you, all full of hot air," Phil teased.

"Just for that, I'm not sharing." Clint picked up the cake with his good hand and brought it to rest on his lap.

"You will if you want the other half of the surprise."

"Jesus, there's more?"

Phil just arched an eyebrow in challenge. Clint looked momentarily torn before he scowled, muttered something under his breath, and then shifted the cake back to rest between them.

"What was that?" Phil asked even as he stood to retrieve the present he'd smuggled in earlier as well.

"I said you're an ass." Clint replied clearly and a little louder than necessary.

"Yes, but an ass that got you a present," Phil responded. He brought the box over to the bed and carefully set it down next to Clint's hip. "Now, none of this 'you didn't have to' shit. Let's skip the drama and get to the fun part. Open it."

Clint shot him a glare of feigned annoyance and reached for the bright paper. Seconds later he was prying the box open and pushing the flaps aside.

"Holy shit." Clint huffed a light laugh and reached into the box. He withdrew one after the other, hard back copies of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, _and _Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. _

"And now you have all but the last one, which, from what I hear, is being released next year."

"Holy shit." Clint said it again but this time he had a wide, childishly excited smile on his face. "This is awesome."

"I figured you'd like them." Phil smiled as he retrieved them each a fork from the small bag of things he'd bought at the corner store before they came back to the room. He held out one of the forks to Clint and they both dug into the cake, though Clint first took the time to pull off each and every candle and lick the icing off of it.

Between the two of them – though Clint did most of the heavy lifting – they devoured the cake in less than an hour, chatting back and forth as they ate. It was well after one in the morning when Phil dumped the empty plastic plate and their forks in the trash and went to brush his teeth.

He came out of the bathroom to find Clint leaning back against his headboard, brow furrowed in concentration as he read the third Harry Potter book.

"Want me to help you get your immobilizer off before I go to bed?" Phil asked as he came to stand next to Clint's bed. It took a moment, but Clint tore his attention away from the book and met his gaze. It took a moment longer for him to process what Phil had asked.

"Sure."

It took less than a minute and Clint was free of the sling.

"Thanks." The archer offered even as he picked up the book again and resumed reading.

"Don't stay up all night reading." Phil advised quietly as he stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and climbed into his own bed. He heard Clint grunt in acknowledgement but otherwise got no real response. He fell asleep to the sound of pages turning.

* * *

He'd had too much to drink.

This was the thought that reverberated through Phil's mind when he returned to consciousness not enough hours later. He blindly sat up and quick stepped his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. It was only when he came back out of the bathroom that he realized the bedside light was still on.

He paused, momentarily frozen in the face of the too bright light. A few blinks later and he was able to focus on the scene before him.

Clint was sprawled on his back, on top of the covers on his bed. His book, about halfway finished by the looks of it, lay abandoned on his chest, and he was asleep. Phil found himself smiling warmly as he moved closer.

He snagged the opposite edge of the comforter and pulled it across Clint's body to offer some warmth and then carefully reached for the book. Clint stirred as he lifted the book from his chest, but settled with a few whispered words.

Satisfied after a moment that Clint wasn't going to wake, Phil stepped back, closing the book. He started to put it down and then paused, flipping open the front cover instead. He retrieved the hotel provided pen out of the bedside table and jotted down a quick inscription.

Then he flipped off the light and climbed back into his own bed, leaving the book open on the nightstand so Clint would be certain to see it in the morning.

_You're worth celebrating, kid. I intend to see – whether you like it or not – that you never doubt that again. Happy Birthday. _

_Phil_

* * *

_Happy 21st Birthday to Clint! :D _

_Hope you enjoyed this! I know it's not as fun as a multi-chapter fic, but it eases the pain of the wait, doesn't it?_

_And Elena? What do you think of her? I'll tell you now, she is NOT anywhere near what Natasha becomes to Clint. But _**JRBarton **_brought up that there is NO WAY our dear Clint is...well...an altar boy before he met Natasha. I mean, he may be jaded and suffer soul-crushing darkness, but he's still a red blooded male. But I also didn't believe him to be a love-em-and-leave-em one night stand type of guy. So enter Elena and a friendship with many benefits. We will see her again, but I won't tell you in what capacity :D _

_As always, I spoke with Clint and the only thing he want's for his birthday (which is TODAY in my universe) is for you to leave a review. It's ALL HE WANTS! so don't disappoint him! :D_


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